6.02.2014

A Story: Sophia's Abortion

**This is not meant to be a political post or a post to argue or something, it's just me reflecting & telling a story & really just asking for prayer.**

**If you've experienced a loss of a baby, or had an abortion, or are highly sensitive or hostile to these type of stories/subjects, and feel you can't read them, please don't.

I don't want to open wounds, argue with or hurt anyone.***

2 years
ago, we heard about a friend of a friend who was about to have an abortion. Her
name was Sophia.

Zachary
and I quickly prayed and asked for Sophia’s number and asked that she meet
with us for lunch.

Sophia
is Chinese and was married to an American, who had just hit her. He was put in
jail, and she at 5 months pregnant, decided it was time for a divorce and that
she didn’t want his baby anymore.

We met
her at lunch, she with a black and bloodied eye, us desperate, and begged her
not to have the abortion and to consider letting us adopt her baby. We told her
we’d pay for everything. She told us the baby was probably disabled. We said we
didn’t care. She said she'd think about it. We listened to the baby’s heart beat, recorded from the ultra sound on her phone,
and we smiled and laughed.

I
dreamed that day. I dreamed of having a new baby in 4 months. I dreamed and
prayed.

I prayed
that day. I prayed that she know Jesus. I prayed that she change her mind, keep
her baby, and that a beautiful story grow from that black eye, pregnant belly
and that lunch on Coffee Street.

I
believed. I believed that Jesus would trade Beauty for ashes. I believed that
she’d know Him.

I
couldn’t see it any other way.

The week
that followed, we texted and we prayed. We waited for her decision, only to
find out that she was at the hospital, that day, alone, waiting for the
abortion.

Zachary
and I, upon hearing 'she' was having an abortion, Sophia who was someone
near us, not a statistic, not a distant story, but someone real and that we
could touch, responded the way I’ve known we would always respond. We
responded, because of God’s love, in love. Not because we’re awesome or strong,
but because our God is so awesome and strong, and we believe, and are sold out
for, His beautiful Kingdom. We pray, “Your will be done on Earth as it is in
Heaven.” And we believe that 'on Earth as it is in Heaven', means adopting babies
and standing with mothers who are suffering, among thousands upon thousands of more beautiful God's love type things.

I raced
to the hospital, so she wouldn’t have to be alone. She was in the baby
hospital, too far along to go to the regular, “quick and easy,” abortion wing
of the main hospital. She was in the hospital with all the other mothers,
waiting to hold their living babies, counting fingers and toes. The elevator
held people with balloons & smiles, the hallways held the sound of crying,
living babies.

Sophia
was in the far room on the fourth floor, with another mother, who had been 8 months
pregnant. Sophia was in pain. She was experiencing contractions and waiting for
the shot that they pierced her belly with to start working, to force the labor, to
kill her baby. We sat and waited for the poison to take effect. We waited all
day. I listened, listened to her rant and rave about her husband. I watched her
spunk, what looked almost like giddiness, and her passion, as she gossiped
about him. I stared and prayed at the lady sharing the room with her. She was 8
months pregnant and found out her baby was missing an artery in his heart. She
had him, pushed him out like mothers of all time have done. He was alive and
crying. They put him in another room in the hospital, alone, to let him die,
alone. I watched as her husband sat with her and heated her soup. They barely
talked, only whispered. I couldn’t get them out of my mind.

I tried
to pray. I tried to yearn. I tried to breath. It was hard. It was hard to pray
as I sat there listening to Sophia, smiling, laughing and gossiping, while we
waited for poison to kill her baby and induce labor, the other ladies 8 month
belly still bloated in my peripheral and the sound of babies in the hallway
crying. It was hard.

How
could I be like Jesus in the midst of it? Where was God? Where was the Kingdom?

All I
knew to do, is sit there. Sit there, and be like Jesus, in the midst of the messy. Sit there and be the Kingdom of God, let the Holy Spirit, who dwells in
me, fill me with strength to keep sitting, keep listening, keep praying.

Sophia’s father came in for a few minutes. He asked her where she wanted to bury the baby. She
flipped her hand and grunted, "anywhere." She could care less. I saw Jesus in that
Father’s question. Why did he or should he even care? Don’t they just usually throw
them away? But he cared. And he asked. I saw Jesus.

The poison took too long. My head was pounding, splitting. I couldn't sit there any
longer. I had been there for hours. I had to go. I told Sophia good bye. I
smiled at her, tried to offer her words of love. I went home. Defeated.
Confused.

She had
the baby the next morning. She pushed him out, like most mothers have for all of
time. He was whole. Perfect. She took a picture of him. With her iphone. She
took a picture of the baby whose life she choose to end, whose life could have
been filled with her love and laughter, or our love and laughter, with diapers
and training wheels. She took a picture of him, covered in blood, and showed
people. She showed people while laughing and saying how she was going to show
her husband and his mom, out of spite, to hurt them. Her laughs sound like a
witches laugh in my memory now.

She
texted a few weeks later inviting me to a BBQ at her house.

I didn’t
go. I couldn’t go. It was too much.

I was
too confused. To confused by what seemed like utter evil.

It took
me awhile to process. She’s from a culture where it’s normal to have abortions.
Where it’s okay to leave a living baby in another room and let it die alone,
because it’s heart didn’t develop enough. She’s from a culture that often gets
one shot at a baby. Why would she want that one shot to be with a man who left
her eye bloodied? People don't ask those hard questions here. They don’t pry
into each others souls, asking the questions, like, “How will you feel when you’re
married again? Pregnant again? Why would you take a picture? How will it make
you feel better?” I get it.

But I
find myself, almost 2 years later, with thoughts of her again, prayers for her
again. And I just wonder, why did I stop believing?

Why did
I stop believing that God would turn ashes to beauty?

Why did
I stop believing a beautiful story would rise out of that bloodied eye,
pregnant belly and even that breath constricting hospital room?

I don’t
want to stop believing. I want to have faith and believe! Because while I was
still a sinner, and still am a sinner, Christ died for me! The Kingdom of God
doesn’t stop with an iphone picture or a young girls malicious laughs. The love
of God doesn't stop with an iphone picture or a dying baby, left alone in a
hospital room. His love never fails. His love hasn’t failed on Sophia. It hasn’t
stopped. His love for her and pursuit of her, that I felt that day on Coffee
Street, is still there, longing for her to know His grace, redemption and love.

Pray for
me. Pray for me to have that Jesus love fill my heart and pray for me to find a
way to connect with her. I don’t have her number. Pray for me to be able to
find it and reach out to her. Meet with her, talk with her, love her. Pray that
her heart has softened. Pray that she come to know God’s great, beautiful,
forgiving love for her!